


Love and Other Diseases

by Harratus



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hanahaki Disease, M/M, One Shot, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Steter Secret Santa 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:23:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21890425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harratus/pseuds/Harratus
Summary: It started with amber eyes, milky skin, and the will to live. Now that Peter is alone in the bathroom hacking up wilted petals, he knows it’s also how it’s going to end.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 8
Kudos: 310
Collections: Steter Secret Santa 2019





	Love and Other Diseases

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Michicant123](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michicant123/gifts).
  * Inspired by [It's How It Will End](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12959790) by [Bunnywest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/pseuds/Bunnywest). 



> This is my gift for Michicant123 for Steter Secret Santa 2019. It's inspired by "It's How It Will End" by Bunnywest, but remixed so it's Peter's POV and Peter suffering from the Hanahaki. This came together at the last minute, so I _might_ rewrite it later to add some more meat. In keeping with the fic's short nature, I'm also assuming the reader understands the basics of Hanahaki.

It started with amber eyes, milky skin, and the will to live. Now that Peter is alone in the bathroom hacking up wilted petals, he knows it’s also how it’s going to end.

* * *

“Hey Creeperwolf.” Stiles saunters into Derek’s loft like he owns the place, brimming with the usual confidence he’s had since his internship with the FBI.

“What is it, Stiles?”

“Can’t I check in on my favorite zombie?” Stiles makes himself at home on the faux-leather (yes, Derek  _ is _ that tacky) couch, a silly grin plastered on his face, like he never left Beacon Hills after graduating. It’s enough to make Peter ache again for the cunning beta that almost was but wasn’t.

Peter is nothing if not a grown man, so he banters back, just like old times, but without the threat of imminent death.

As it turns out, Stiles is in town to see the old pack and hang out at the The Jungle, also just like old times, except everyone is old enough to drink this time. He extends an invitation to Peter, who has the self-control to decline. Stiles has spent enough time around werewolves and law enforcement officers to not give away anything he’s thinking unless he wants to, but Peter can’t help but want to think he’s sensing disappointment. Stiles turns to leave, throwing a glance over his shoulder Peter barely catches.

As he returns to stewing thoughts (what-ifs, could-have-beens,  _ regrets _ ), Peter feels a tickle in the back of his throat. Thoughts of being poisoned by wolfsbane flood his mind, but before  _ that _ panic can set in, a dry cough tears through his lungs and a single red rose petal falls from his lips.

Okay. Strange, but at least it’s not wolfsbane. Peter can deal with this.

* * *

You see, a few resurrections too many has left Peter vulnerable to ancient magics. It was his love for Stiles that got him out of the train station and this same love will send Peter into his next grave.

* * *

As it turns out, Peter can’t deal with it alone. Stiles is in town until his internship starts again after the holidays and every time they see each other leaves Peter heaving with flowers in his lungs. It’s already been a week and Peter is no closer to finding a cause, but he can tell that whatever it is already taking a toll on his body. He knows it’s time to visit Deaton, as cryptic as the vet-cum-druid can be.

The office is closed, but Peter makes a point of breaking in and ringing the service bell as loud and obnoxious as he pleases; even he can’t cross over the rowan lined furniture. Regardless, he doesn’t have to wait long.

“Mr. Hale,” Deaton has one of those soothing but annoying voices, like he’s trying to calm an aggressive dog no matter who or what he’s talking to, “What brings you to my office today?”

Peter reaches into his pocket and pulls out a fistful of his petals.”What do you know about this?”

Deaton slips on a pair of purple neoprene gloves before picking up a petal from Peter’s hand. “Tell me, Mr. Hale, have you fallen in love recently?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Thoughts of Stiles flash unbidden through his mind.

“Unrequited love kills.” Deaton takes a glove off so he can pull a small book off his shelf of druidic curios. “Take this, and come back if you want the surgery.”

Peter holds the book gingerly in his free hand. The paper cover and side-stitched binding held up to the test of time, but he can tell he’s going to have to brush on his classical Japanese before making heads of tales of the characters on the cover. He flips through the pages and sees several woodblock prints of people coughing flowers and cutting their hearts out. He’s not sure what he’s looking at, but it’s enough to make him nervous about Deaton’s surgery. After all, dying hasn’t stopped him before.

* * *

Peter checked. There’s no coming back this time.

* * *

Peter is alone in the bathroom hacking up wilted, bloodstained petals. It’s hard to say how much more his werewolf healing can handle, but his days on this earth are numbered. A knock on his door snaps Peter out of his reverie, but he can tell his body is done for the night.

“You look like death warmed over,” Jordan says from the doorway. He’s wearing his street clothes, not his deputy’s uniform.

“What are you doing here?” Peter’s snark comes out as rasp instead. “How did you get in?”

“Stiles made me a copy of his key. You know, for emergencies.” The mention of Stiles’ name is enough to send Peter into another coughing fit, more petals falling wetly into the toilet. “Lydia said you were dying but I didn’t realize it would be this bad.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Jordan gets closer, frowning when he sees the petals. “Hanahaki? Why don’t you get the surgery?”

Peter shakes his head. “I’ve already given so much up I’d rather die than lose this.”

He’s not sure if Jordan will get what he means about love and anchors because he barely understands it himself, but Jordan just nods and tries to pick Peter up. “Alright champ, let’s sleep this off and we can pick it up in the morning.” But Peter knows if that if Lydia already knows, he might not even last the night.

* * *

When Peter comes to again, he’s wrapped up like quilted burrito, Jordan is napping in one of the old wooden chairs Peter salvaged from the family vault, and Stiles is sitting next to him on the bed. “What are you doing here?’’ he asks.

“I heard the news. Can’t I check on my favorite zombie?”

“Go away.”

“You know I can’t do that, Peter.”

“Do I?” Peter can hardly sound as challenging as he used to, but he hopes it’s enough to get the point across.

“Peter…” Stiles gets pained look on his face. “You know I love you, right?”

Peter’s heart stops for a moment. “Do you really?”

“Of course! Why do you think I came back to Beacon Hills? It’s certainly not for the ambience.”

Peter stays quiet for a moment. “I love you too.”

Stiles leans down to kiss Peter on the lips. His chest loosens and he can finally breathe again.


End file.
